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"Oh, who would think her portion blest,
The thunder bursts, the lightning falls,
She does not speak, she does not sigh,
A smile lights up the cherub's eye,
And dims the mother's with a tear.
"Oh, who would be a seaman's wife! Oh, who would bear a seaman's child! To tremble for her husband's life,
weep because her infant smiled!"
Ne'er hadst thou borne a seaman's boy,
To press his weather-beaten cheek,
Thy cheerful fire, thy plain repast,
Were ten times sweeter than the last
And not a cloud that night was seen.
Oh, happy pair! the pains you know,
And Robin still is safe at home.
TOM TACKLE was noble, was true to his word;
Truth furnish'd the rigging, and Honour the gale :
That, good as he was, made him all that was bad; He was paltry and pitiful, scurvy and mean, And the sniv❜lingest scoundrel that ever was seen: For so said the girls and the landlords 'longshore. Would you know what his fault was ?-Tom Tackle was poor!
'Twas once on a time when we took a galloon, And the crew touch'd the agent for cash to some tune;
Tom took a trip to jail, an old messmate to free, And four thankful prattlers soon sat on his knee. Then Tom was an angel, downright from heaven sent!
While they'd hands he his goodness should never repent:
Return'd from next voyage he bemoan'd his sad
To find his dear friend shut the door in his face.
Why d'ye wonder?" cried one, "you're served right to be sure;
Once Tom Tackle was rich-now Tom Tackle is poor!"
I ben't, you see, versed in high maxims and sich; But don't this same honour concern poor and rich ? If it, don't come from good hearts, I can't see where from,
And I'm sure, if e'er tar had a good heart, 'twas Tom.
Yet somehow or t'other, Tom never did right:
None knew better the time when to spare or to fight:
He, by finding a leak, once preserved crew and
Saved the Commodore's life-then he made such
And yet for all this, no one Tom could endure;
At last an old shipmate, that Tom might hail land, Who saw that his heart sail'd too fast for his hand,
In the riding of comfort a mooring to find,
Reef'd the sails of Tom's fortune, that shook in the wind:
gave him enough through Life's ocean to steer, Be the breeze what it might, steady, thus, or no
His pittance is daily, and yet Tom imparts
What he can to his friends-and may all honest
Like Tom Tackle, have what keeps the wolf from the door,
Just enough to be generous-too much to be poor.
A FAIRY TALE, IN THE OLD ENGLISH STYLE.
IN Britain's isle, and Arthur's days,
Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth,
Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth,
His mountain back mote well be said
Yet spite of all that Nature did
He felt the charms of Edith's eyes,
But one Sir Topaz dress'd with art,
He had a shape to win.
Edwin, if right I read my song,
'Twas near an old enchanted court,
His heart was drear, his hope was cross'd,
But scant he lays him on the floor,
Now sounding tongues assail his ear,
But (trust me, gentles!) never yet
The country lent the sweet perfumes,